


I Can't Believe That Worked

by Dots



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, honestly this is just dave dicking around, john is only there for a hot second, theyre in love karen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 11:59:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15364188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dots/pseuds/Dots
Summary: Karkat, upon ordering his food, had oh so innocently wondered aloud where the term “chicken fingers” had come from, since chickens, you know, didn’t have fingers. Why call it that?Dave could have said: "Huh, good question Karkat. I don’t know. But you are right in that Chickens do not, in fact, have fingers."But nooooo, Dave just had to make him question the intergalactic mechanics of seemingly similar poultry by saying: "Uh, yes they do."Like what the fuck was he supposed to do with that?





	I Can't Believe That Worked

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!!!! This is my first (posted) fic ahaha. It's just dave and karkat being. really dumb. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!!

“What.”

“It’s true.”

“No it’s fucking not do you think I’m a goddamn idiot.”

“If you’re asking, then, I mean-”

“Fuck off.”

Karkat marched away from Dave, who was casually stretched across a white pool chair, holding a bright pink drink with a little umbrella between his fingers. He wore tightly fitted candy colored swim shorts with little kissy lips plastered randomly about them, and equally repulsing flip-flops to match. Why anyone would make the conscious decision to wear those absolute monstrosities anywhere, Karkat didn’t know. Though, Dave’s fashion sense tended to make him gag so hard he had to will his stomach out of his throat. Even Dave’s fucking towel was red.  Red on red on red was _not_ a look.

Karkat, like a normal fucking person would, wore his plain black trunks and his plain bare feet. He didn’t like the way flip-flops, well, flipped and flopped. He also thought they were ugly and really uncomfortable. You wear them to the pool but they still get wet and so you still have wet feet but instead you have wet rubbery feet with the shoe digging in between your toes and you’re questioning your very existence and why any deity let you wear these god awful shoes _anywhere_ , all while a happy (and wet!) flip-flop-flip-flop follows you around. Basically they sucked fucking ass.

So obviously, Dave loved them. Wear them around everywhere, his heels slapping disgustingly against the rubber. _They’re easy!_ he would say. _You’re just bitter._  Bitter but with a working sense fashion, thanks.

The two of them had been going swimming, or rather, had talked about going swimming and then went to the pool only to order food and talk for an hour instead. And it was nice. It was fine. A fun little date thing that they do sometimes. Relaxing, even. But, then-- of course. They’d been there an hour, an _hour_ , and already Dave had to do something dumb. Dumber than his outfit. Typical.

Karkat, upon ordering his food, had oh so innocently wondered aloud where the term “chicken fingers” had come from, since chickens, you know, didn’t have fingers. Why call it that?

Dave could have said: _Huh, good question Karkat. I don’t know. But you are right in that Chickens do not, in fact, have fingers._

But nooooo, Dave just had to make him question the intergalactic mechanics of seemingly similar poultry by saying: _Uh, yes they do_.

Like what the fuck was he supposed to do with that?

 _Dave, chickens don’t have fingers_ , he said, _They have wings. And feathers._ Like, they are birds, dude.

But of course, Dave had to go into this and that about _cultural insensitivity_  and even asking, _have you ever even seen a real chicken_? And yes, Katkat had-- in person! And he knew they didn’t have fleshy little phalanges.

But then Dave asked if he’d seen them during what he called “Chicken Huntin’ Time,” which, Karkat had to admit, he hadn’t. If such a time even existed, which he doubted.

To which Dave explained that during certain times of the year (the Chicken Huntin’ Times) chickens allegedly shed their feathers revealing that where wings would usually be, instead hid rough hands protruding the delicacy that is chicken fingers, wiggling around in all their unmasked fingery glory.

By this time Karkat had lost his appetite.

But Dave wasn’t done. No no, he told him all about how unless the chicken was killed ripley (ew) during Chicken Huntin’ Time, the fingers wouldn’t appear. A cruel trick of nature, he called it.

Which... had to be bullshit right? Like that isn’t. That isn’t just something that happens.

This is what brought Karkat to his current situation, storming away from the pool, not letting himself get fooled by another one of Dave’s tricky antics. He’d once convinced him that all the controls to Super Smash Bros were switched, which lead to a pretty embarrassing crushing defeat during their annual tournament (fuck you, Roxy. Show a little mercy). But Karkat wouldn’t play into it this time. Oh no, he knew better.

“Karkat!” He heard Dave call, “Where you going?”

He proceeded to ignore his calls and go inside the little poolside restaurant where they’d originally ordered their meals. Most of the food there was pretty alien to him, but that was to be expected. It was an Earth based restaurant after all. They had installed little Alternia and Earth-like attractions all around Earth-C. Made it a little homier, if you asked him. Except, of course, for situations like these, where he wasn’t in the comfort of his Alternian-styled landscape and rather stuck inside the hellhole that was Earth’s idea of interior design.

But it was fine, he guessed.

He sat down at a little wooden table near the back and looked out a window with a huff. Painted blue skies with clouds and sunshine littered across the walls. Earth-ish plants grew in pots and sat well loved next to large windows. There was a counter on the far left, manned by a single very oddly peppy looking barista, and were a few people here and there, just chit-chatting.  It was very cool, nice and air-conditioned-- better than the humid summer air outside that just about stuck to Karkat’s skin. Overall, it was actually pretty chill, and he might have been able to enjoy his time there if he weren’t so peeved off. God. How much of a dumbass did Dave think he was? Chicken’s having fingers, whole hands even! Fucking ridiculous. Stupid.

He heard the door chime, and instinctively looked up. And there stood Dave, sunglasses on and red-ass towel around his neck, as if he’d been using it. It just made him look worse, in his opinion. Dave glanced around the restaurant and spotted his boyfriend.  But, just as they made eye contact Karkat turned away and put his nose in the air. He shut his eyes defiantly, and listened as Dave pulled out a chair across from him and sat down.

He cleared his throat.“So uh. What’d you go storming in here for?”

Karkat puffed out a sigh, “You were pissing me off, so I left.”

He gave him a quick look over, and swore he could see just the ghost of a smile on Dave’s face. Suspicious. “Aw, babe, what did I do this time?”

“Don’t you fucking ‘babe’ me, bub. I see what you’re doing and it’s not working. I’m not stupid.”

The blond put on an innocent face--or so it seemed. “I’m not doing anything. You drink too much chlorine water? Maybe it’s getting to your head. Get some bread or something in ya, you know,  absorb it up. Does that work? Do you think that would work?”

“We haven’t even gone in the water, Dave. And no it wouldn’t work what the shit where did you get that idea.”

Dave leaned into his palm.“I dunno, it seems plausible, like some people say eating bread will make you less drunk or whatever, why not apply it to--”

“Stop changing the subject!” Karkat interrupted, “You know what you did and I’m not having it.”

Again with the innocent look. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. But so, I'm guessing you're not like, buying anything? Cause if not, we really shouldn’t be in here-- politeness and shit, you know.”

“I’m not gonna spell it out to you if that’s what you’re thinking. And no I’m not buying anything cause someone ruined my appetite with his gross hand stories.”

“What, is this about the chicken fingers?”

“Obviously.”

“In that case, I mean, you sort of just did spell it out for me.”

Karkat all but growled, “What-fucking-ever, I don’t care! All I’m trying to say is I see your little game and I am not playing it!”

Dave leaned  in with a sigh, “I’m not playing any games, Karkles. Can’t we just enjoy the pool? Who knows, maybe chlorine is good for trolls.” He gave him a smirk.

Karkat scowled in return, “I could say the same to you. And I’m not going anywhere ‘till you admit chickens don’t have fingers.”

Dave’s eyebrows arched above his sunglasses. God, he was so much easier to read when he didn’t have those stupid shades on. “But the thing is, babe, they do. Chicken Huntin’ Time, remember? It’s all very important.”

“And I’m saying, _babe_ ,” Karkat began with intensity, “that you’re pulling my leg fucking quartering styled.” He leaned far back into his chair and crossed his arms. He was not losing this argument. He’d gotten better at that, recently.

“You can ask anyone, they’ll tell you,” Dave shrugged.

“I am not going to let you have the satisfaction of watching me embarrass myself publicly by asking someone whether or not chickens have hands hidden underneath their wings. God that sounds so ridiculous saying out loud, fuck you for making that ever come out of my mouth.”

Dave just shook his head. “Okay it sounds bad when you say it like that but really? Think about it. Why else would we call 'em that. I wouldn’t say they resemble human fingers much when they're covered in the breading shit and deep fried. So there’s that. And plus, all the animals know about wiggly chicken fingers and they want a piece of _that_ action. But chickens can’t fly, so what do they do? How do they not just fucking die? Hand to hand. Self defense. How else would they've survived in the wilderness. They’ve gotta have them hands.”

Karkat stared at him with absolute dumbfoundedness. Images of chickens doing karate to fight off wild foxes danced around in his head. What the fuck. _What the fuck._ “You-- You can’t expect me to just--”

Dave stood and extended a hand, “Come on. We really shouldn’t just hang in here. And I’m fucking cold as balls-- metal chairs and air conditioning and these legs are not a good combo.” He had a twitch of a smile on his face.

Karkat ignored his hand and pushed himself out of the chair. “Okay, now, wait a fucking second, Chickens--"

“Oh, man, drop it. Let’s just party at the pool.” He took his hand. “Relax, dude.”

And Karkat almost did drop it. He almost went, _Okay, Dave, let’s swim. Maybe chickens have fingers_ . Relaxing sounded good. Before The Chicken Debate, the day had been going pretty well, honestly. But he caught a look of Dave’s face, and he knew. That smug little smile. Dave thought he had won. He thought Karkat would just let the conversation end. Now it was really on. The troll wouldn't give in, he had a plan, in fact! He’d do something Dave wouldn’t expect. Karkat just needed to ask someone-- then he’d know for sure. He already told him he wouldn’t, which is exactly why he could. Genius. But, Christ, who the hell could he just ask _Hey weird question, but does the term ‘chickens have fingers’ fucking tickle you?_

He was weighing his options between the two trolls in the other corner and the saggy old guy eating the tuna sandwich--which he could smell from where he stood--when there was a soft chime at the door, interrupting his train of thought. He turned and squinted as light washed over the newcomer, making a Gandalf the Gray second entrance type thing (English had insisted he watch _human_ Lord of the Rings a while back) and watched almost awe-struck as the door silenced the light putting into view one and only--

John Egbert. Oh.

He was wearing long baby blue swimming trunks, a tan straw hat, and a swim shirt that read: “SHELL YEAH BABY” with a little baby holding a seashell under it.

Ugh. Why can’t any humans dress themselves.  

But, Karkat also saw this as a chance. _John's kind of a dumbass. He’s not gonna care if I ask him if chickens have fingers._

John spotted the pair and his face lit up. “You guys!” To which he began his walk over, putting his feet into view that-- Oh god. He had on tremendous blue flippers that flopped very loudly with each step he took over the ceramic floor. Tucked under his arm was a snorkel, and now Karkat could see that he smeared sunscreen on his nose like a lifeguard.

He resisted running out of the restaurant right then and there to avoid being seen with the walking embarrassment this poor excuse of an alien-god John was.

But there he stood firm as John paraded through tables, like this was just a normal thing to do. Dave waved at him, and glanced around at the other customers, specifically at those two troll girls, who were giggling and pointing. Couldn’t they let a grown guy waddle in peace. They were making this worse for everybody.

When John reached them, he held a grand smile on his face. "Hey! I didn't know you guys were here! Have you gone in yet? I brought a tube!"

Dave gave him a grin, "Not quite. We're about to though, if I can get Karkat out of here--"

"Not utill you admit it!" Karkat snapped back.

"Man, I thought we were dropping it. There isn't anything to admit."

"Admit what?" John wondered curiously, looking back and forth at the two of them.

Karkat took in a sharp breath. "Listen, John, I trust you more than this asshole here--"

"What? I'm trustworthy" Dave cut in.

Karkat held up a finger. "Hold it. Anyway. Don't ask why cause I'm not gonna tell you but if you can find it in your rusting tetanus-carrying thinkpan to inform me of some crucial information I would be most abso-fucking-lutely grateful."

His expression didn't even waver. "Well, okay! Come at me!"

He sniffed. "Okay, well, I'm just gonna say it so. God, whatever, it’s, uh. It’s a weird question."

John gave a helpful smile. Dave stayed oddly silent, which made him nervous. Why wasn’t he stopping him? Was he admitting defeat? Or did he know he wouldn’t be able to say it. Fuck that! He could say it!

"Do. Do uh. Do-- Fuck."  God, it was hard to say out loud to an unsuspecting person. Even if that person was John flipper-wearing Egbert.

"I won't make fun of you Karkat I promise!" John chimed.

"Yeah, Karkat, just ask him." Urged Dave, smirking at him.

"Shut up, I am! I-um.  Do. Do chickens--" He sighed. Just say it dipshit. "Here we go. Do chickens have fingers. That’s it. That’s all I wanna know."

On the list of dumbest questions Karkat has ever had the nerve to ask, that one claimed new records. Just asking it confirmed it. No, dumbass. How could you even think for a second that fucking chickens grew hands and fought off animals. And now he knew Dave had already won at this point. That’s why he was smiling-- he'd gotten to witness him asking it, like it was some actual serious question. And now John had to answer it seriously but all he fucking asked were if chicken had fingers god damn it damn it damn it at least it wasn’t recorded--

"What? Yeah of course they do." John said, without even breaking eye contact.

Karkat blinked once. Twice. "What?"

"See I told you man." Dave pushed his shoulder.

"Wuh. No. Wait. Wait wait." Karkat began, flailing his arms, "You know I mean like-- not like the food. Like actual chickens. Having hands. On their bodies."

"Yeah." John replied. "You didn't know that?"

Dave raised his hands, "Cultural differences or something. Let's go, Karkat. Meet you outside Egbert."

He was stunned. He was sure, he was _so_ sure, that he had been right. That Dave had had fibbed the entire thing. Yet here stood John who couldn't have known about this (he couldn't have known, right?) telling him that chickens had fingers, this whole time, and no one had bothered to tell Karkat about it. What the actual fuck.

Dave looped his arm around him and started leading them out, smiling casually as they strode towards the door.

"So. You mean chickens actually brawl with other animals for self-defense."

"Yeah."

"What."

"I don't know man, I'm not some expert. Once I've gotten a phd in chicken science, I'll let you know. Lets just swim dude."

And out the doors they went.

Chickens have fingers, huh?

Weird.

********

 

Dave flew home with a bit of a spring to his glide. He actually could not believe that worked.

After swimming, Karkat went home early to take a nap, so he and John hung out for a little while longer.

And what the holy shit what.

He and John had pulled one over on Karkat to an extent that was really fucking laughable. He did not expect that to work out so well. Especially since little ol’ Karkles had recently been getting really good at calling out Dave’s bullshit. Getting more suspicious and stuff. He’d even been pulling things on _Dave,_ if you’d believe it.  

But this time, everything fell right into place. Somehow the story was like, borderline believable, but just outrageous enough to be really fucking funny, and John had just instantly caught on when he walked in the doors. Neither of them could explain that, it just _happened_.

And honestly? He wasn’t gonna question it. He didn’t want to push his luck too far.

Chicken Fingers was gonna go down in history. No matter what happens beyond this point, Dave could proudly say that for at least a second he’d convinced Karkat that chickens had hidden hands. Iconic, actually.

He and John were laughing about it for hours to come, but once the sun started going down, Dave decided he should probably get home, hang out with Karkat a bit more. Not to say John had totally crashed their date but. He kind of totally crashed their date. And he had convinced that poor troll of some dumbass shit, he owed him a night in.

It was nice flying at this time of night. Especially in the summer. Wasn’t too hot, it looked really damn cool actually, and he just liked it. Karkat was missing out, not being able to fly and stuff. Maybe he should invest in rocket shoes. Or a very small plane.

When Dave arrived home, he was ready to share his plan on Getting Karkat Airborne, but couldn’t quite find him.

“Karkat?” He called, “I’m home.”

He checked around the downstairs. No sign of the little dude.

 _He cannot still be sleeping._ He thought.

He walked up the stairs to the second floor, where their bedroom was, and saw the door was closed.

“No fucking way.” He muttered, and carefully tried to open the door.

Locked. Huh.

He tried knocking, “Karkat, you in there?”

He heard vague shuffling, then, “Oh, you’re back.”

“Uh, yeah. Just now. Why’s the door locked?”

“To keep people from coming in, that’s pretty obvious I think.” He had an oddly calm tone to his voice. What was he up to.

“Um. Can _I_ come in?”

“Have I unlocked the door?”

Dave creased his eyebrows. “Why aren’t you letting me in.”

“You know, Dave,” Karkat began, “After my nap, I got to thinking about our conversation earlier? And I realized, we have access to this great thing called the internet--”

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeah.” He said, with fake sympathy.

Dave rubbed his eyes under his shades, and laughed. “I’m sorry dude, I didn’t expect it to go that far."

“Oh you didn’t did you?” Dave could tell he was hiding a smile under his voice. At least he was pretty sure.

“I mean it! It just sort of happened I can’t explain it.”

“Well, I believe you.”

There was a silence. “Can I uh, can I come in now?"

"Hmm. No.”

He put his arm on the door and leaned, “Well babe I do need to go to sleep tonight.”

“I hear couches are great this time of year.”

“You’re joking.”

Karkat went silent.

Dave sighed. “Oh my god.”

They held out the quiet for another few seconds.

“If I sleep on the couch, are you gonna forgive me?”

“Hmm.”

And that was about that. Dave exhaled. “Goodnight then, I guess.”

“Night.”

Was Dave angry? No. Annoyed? Nope. Minorly inconvenienced? Fuck yeah.

He succumbed back down the stairs and buzzed his lips. He kind of felt like a 40-year-old husband in the 50’s who’s wife he’d angered. It was kind of a nostalgic feeling, in a really weird fucking way. They had a couple couches, a few armchairs. Dave hadn’t noticed when he walked in, but Karkat had stylishly laid out a blanket on the back of their “long couch” as they called it, and even included a pillow. A revenge plan with an undertone of consideration. Thanks, babe.

He picked up some throw pillows from their other furniture and put it under the nicer one to give it some oomph. He snuggled in cozy under the blanket, but found he wasn’t tired yet. Sighing once again he got up, turned on a couple of lights, grabbed the t.v remote, and settled back in. Ah well. At least he had the television. Maybe something good was on.

After a few episodes his eyes started giving up on him. He slid off his sunglasses and propped them gently on the end table, and now (inconvenient timing) a bit too tired to get up, he fell asleep, with the lights still on, to the banging sounds of cartoons.

 

When Dave awoke, everything had been turned off.

It was about midday, which goes to show about when _he_ fell asleep. The windows were open, the remote had been put away, and even his shoes weren’t where he left them.

But that certainly wasn’t what had caught his attention. 

Laying, quite literally on top of him, was Karkat, fast asleep on his chest. Dave’s eyes were wide with shock upon seeing him, but his expression melted to fondness quickly.

 _Miss me?_ He thought.

He reached up his hand and began to pet the troll’s hair. Soft, as usual. He kept caressing and petting until his sleeping partner shifted and groaned, and watched as his eyes fluttered open. Tired eyes looked straight up at him.

“Hey.” Dave said softly, still petting.

“Morning.” Karkat yawned, leaning into Dave’s hand.

That sat like that for a while, quite happy with each others company. Dave raised his other arm to rub circles in Karkat’s back, while he just about purred happily into his chest. He reminded Dave of a cat often, which he thought was funny since his name had “cat” in it. He’d make jokes about it a lot. Karkat didn't always get it. Cultural differences, you know. 

Suddenly, he was a little nervous. Just a little. He wasn’t sure if Karkat was still upset with him about their whole fiasco. 

No time like the present, he guessed. 

He took a deep breath. “Can I take this to mean I’m forgiven?” 

Karkat tensed for a moment, then sighed. He turned his head so he was facing the television, his cheek still firmly pressed on Dave, and closed his eyes. “Honestly? I never really had something to forgive you for. You got me, so I just kind of got you back. I wasn’t actually like... really mad at you. Or anything like that. Just a little peeved, like I always am. So I guess...” He paused. "You're good?" 

Dave pursed his lips together, trying to suppress the big grin growing on his face. That actually, really meant a fucking lot. Maybe more than it should have.

He pulled his arms around Karkat in a tight hug, and leaned his head down, leaving a little kiss on the crown of his head. “I love you.”

Karkat did his best to squirm about and return the hug, putting his arms around Dave’s neck and just sort of pressing his head really hard down into this chest. He got the message. And, though muffled, Dave certainly could make out an “I love you too,” directed into his torso.

But then, they simply lied there on the couch, maybe getting a little too warm, but a bit too happy to care at this point.

“At least we know for sure now that chickens are without fingers.” Dave said.

“Shut it.” Karkat replied.

 _This is much better than a night in_ , Dave thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! What can I say I am a sucker for happy fluffy relationships. 
> 
> catch me on tumblr @ryujjis
> 
> also. slightly embarrassed my first fic is homestuck but i guess thats just life babey
> 
> Thank u again my friends!!! :DDD


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